


From The Ground Up

by aformofmotion, momentinsubtext



Series: Beyond The Help Of Falling Stars [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aformofmotion/pseuds/aformofmotion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/momentinsubtext/pseuds/momentinsubtext
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of <i>Children of Earth</i>, Torchwood pulls itself together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. <i>in wax</i>

**Author's Note:**

> _we drank and waited for something to drop_  
>  you and I looking and sifting  
> for signs written in wax  
> ~ Mark Conway, "in the ruins"

They stare at what used to be the Hub for two days, Gwen leaning against Rhys' side and Jack standing some distance away. There are people there, police and explosives experts and the occasional drifter combing through the wreckage, but no one approaches them. Gwen suspects that's Andy's doing - they've seen him watching from the other side of the police line, looking worried.  
  
Thank god he has the good sense to stay there; she doesn't think she could deal with his curiousity and enthusiasm.  
  
  
  
 _It's fragile_ , Gwen thinks on the third day, _it can't last._  
  
  
  
"This is ridiculous," Rhys says. "Bloody ridiculous. What're we doing?"  
  
Gwen sighs, thinks, _We're mourning._  
  
She doesn't say it out loud.  
  
"I'm leaving," Jack says, hours later but it's obviously an answer.  
  
Gwen doesn't look over. She doesn't ask why and she doesn't ask where; she's too smart for that. What she does ask is, "When?"  
  
"Today. Now."  
  
She reaches out with her free hand and takes his, gently, squeezes once. "When will you be back?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"But you will be back, yeah? Eventually?" Silence. "Come to ours for tea. Before you go."  
  
She sees him shake his head out the corner of her eye. "I can't."  
  
"Okay."  
  
They stand that way for a long time.  
  
  
  
As if Jack's departure were a catalyst, they move beyond staring the next day.  
  
  
  
"D'you think aliens are going to stop coming to Earth just cos I'm pregnant? The Rift is going to magically close?"  
  
"Well, no, but-"  
  
"Rhys Williams, I swear to god, if I hear the words 'in your condition' one more time-!"  
  
"All right, all right," he says, holding his hands up placatingly. "I'm just saying. It's not right, you having to chase after those things all on your own."  
  
Gwen shrugs. She thinks, _It's my job. If I don't do it, who will?_  
  
"Where would you have put it if you'd caught it, anyway?" Rhys continues. "We haven't even got a proper basement, you're not bringing it back to ours."  
  
"I wasn't planning on bringing it back alive."  
  
Rhys snorts. "Pull the other one, love."  
  
"Probably a good thing I didn't catch it, then," she mutters.  
  
"Probably," he agrees.  
  
  
  
Gwen _is_ Torchwood. It isn't her fault there isn't anyone else.  
  
  
  
They return home one day to find Lois sat outside their front door.  
  
"What-?" The words are barely out of Gwen's mouth before Lois is standing and handing her a stack of paperwork nearly as high as her head.  
  
"The story the government is going with is that the inoculations worked and all those people that said they were taking their kids were lying. All the kids are going to get jabs in the next couple weeks, just a placebo of course, and all those people are going to get locked up."  
  
"That's not fair," Rhys says.  
  
"I know." She looks at Gwen. "That first set of papers is to relocate Ianto Jones' family before the order goes through. New names and everything. You can look it over but you really just need to sign on the dotted line, yeah?"  
  
"All right," Gwen says, more than a little surprised and not only because those are the most words anyone who isn't Rhys has said to her in the last week. "What's the rest of it?"  
  
"The second set of papers is to release Ianto Jones' body to the family for a proper burial. They were going to burn all the bodies, and I'm not sure of proper Torchwood protocol, but I figured-"  
  
"Good. What else?"  
  
  
  
Lois leaves when Gwen and Rhys go to bed but she's back again in the morning, bright and early.  
  
  
  
"Lois, what are you doing?" Gwen asks a couple days later.  
  
There's a laptop sitting on her kitchen counter that wasn't there before, and another on the end table A third is balanced precariously on Lois' lap while she digs through a pile of papers near her feet.  
  
"Trying to figure out your database. Too many acronyms, not enough explanations." She frowns. "What's this DP tag mean?"  
  
"Don't Panic. Tosh used it to mark basic informa-and that's not what I meant."  
  
Lois looks up, letting the papers settle. "Remember when you offered me a job? I'm accepting."  
  
"Thank god!"  
  
"Shut up, you," Gwen calls over her shoulder. She turns her attention back to Lois when no response is forthcoming. "Are you sure? This job, Torchwood, it's not-"  
  
"Like every other job? Safe? I got that, yeah. I've read the reports. And I've already filed the paperwork, so unless you're firing me...?"  
  
"She's not!"  
  
Gwen ignores him. "Okay. I'm going for a walk, call me if anything happens."  
  
  
  
Something happens. Something _always_ happens.  
  
  
  
She barrels around the corner, gun already drawn, and nearly collides with Andy. Before she can ask the obvious question she sees the flash.  
  
"Move!" she shouts, shoving him as hard as she can just before the beam strikes the ground where he'd been standing. Her eyes are already searching for the shooter when he picks himself up. "Andy, what are you doing here?"  
  
"Honestly? I have no idea." She spares him a sharp look. "Your secretary called. Lois. Said you might need backup and I was closer than she was." He frowns, confused. "No idea why she'd call _me_ , now I think about it."  
  
"You're listed in my file as unofficial police liason. Don't let it go to your head." She closes her eyes briefly and promises to have a talk with Lois. "And I don't need backup."  
  
Andy snorts. "Okay, I'll just go then, shall I?"  
  
"If you had any brains left, you would." Her phone beeps and she picks it up. "Tell me it's still close." Pause. "Okay. Good."  
  
"So what's with the laser beams?" Andy asks a while later, ducking behind a rubbish bin.  
  
Gwen briefly considers her options. "Don't get shot and I'll tell you later."  
  
"You're such a liar," he says, grinning.  
  
  
  
Gwen never does have that talk with Lois.  
  
  
  
"I know you offered that Johnson woman a job," Rhys says. "How'd that go?"  
  
"She said she'd think about it and I haven't heard from her since," Gwen snaps. "Is this really the time for this?"  
  
"I was just thinking, maybe if more of you carried guns-"  
  
"Rhys," she interrupts, dropping down to avoid the return fire. "Real quick now, take a look around you. We're being shot at-"  
  
"That's exactly my point-"  
  
"-and you are standing next to an angry pregnant woman with a gun, who also happens to be your wife. Think very carefully. Do you want to have this discussion _now?_ "  
  
"Ah. Well. When you put it that way. It can wait."  
  
"Good choice," she says, and later, "If you're going to keep sticking you nose into Torchwood business, I'll have Lois find you a dotted line to sign on."  
  
  
  
By the time Gwen realises that _she has a team now_ , she's starting to think maybe it's going to be okay.  
  
  
  
"Gwen," Lois says. "What colour is that readout?"  
  
Gwen glances up. "Blue."  
  
" _Blue?_ " She swears. "Pass me that... green whatsit."  
  
"This one?"  
  
"No, the other. Yeah, that." She fiddles with it. "Okay, now what colour is it?"  
  
"Sort of purple-ish." She tilts her head at the screen. "You do know what you're doing with that thing, right?"  
  
"Well enough to not blow us up. Probably."  
  
"That's comforting." She picks up the nearest box of gizmos, glances inside, and shakes it at Lois. "File it and put it away."  
  
"Where'd this stuff come from, anyway?"  
  
Andy pokes his head into the room. "Police station. That's all stuff they found in the wreckage down by the Plass."  
  
"Would you lot keep it down?" Rhys mutters. "I'm on a break and Top Gear is on."  
  
Silence, for all of a minute.  
  
"We might want to look into renting office space," Lois suggests.  
  
  
  
They don't rent office space; Gwen and Rhys move into a lovely house with a nursery and a huge lawn, and the Torchwood Institute takes over the lease on their apartment. It works.  
  
  
  
A month after Jack's departure Gwen recieves an email. There's no sender, no way to trace it, but she knows before she clicks on it that it's from him.  
  
For half a second she's expecting vacation pictures. Photos of Jack in ridiculous poses with handsome men and gorgeous women hanging off his arm. Which is absurd for a variety of reasons, most of which are too depressing for words, so she scraps the whole thought process and just opens the email.  
  
It takes almost a whole minute to process what she's seeing.  
  
Access codes, PINs and account numbers, security clearance codes, passphrases. Administrative data. All the things they've been doing just fine without. All the proof she needs that Jack doesn't plan on coming back anytime soon.  
  
She memorizes the information, deletes the email, and doesn't mention it to anyone.  
  
  
  
The world doesn't end and neither does Torchwood.


	2. Growing Pains

When Gwen steps into the Torchwood apartment, she nearly drops the bags she's carrying. "I only went for takeout, I didn't think you'd start a meth lab while I was gone."  
  
Lois grins up at her. "Found the recipe for that Weevil mace stuff you asked for."  
  
"Thank god."  
  
"Oh, sure, give him all the credit." Lois rolls her eyes. "Maybe try 'thank you, Lois, for all the hours of meticulous labour you put in searching our ridiculously overcomplicated database'."  
  
"Maybe try smaller words," Andy says. "You're giving me a headache."  
  
Lois sticks her tongue out at him.  
  
"Don't you two start," Gwen warns. "Seriously, Lois, this is amazing. Thank you."  
  
The phone rings in sync with Lois' nod. She picks it up, nods again, and puts it down. "Police station. They've got another batch of things from the wreckage."  
  
"I'll go," Andy volunteers, snagging his food and heading for the door without waiting for confirmation.  
  
"Honestly, is there anything they're going to find down there that's not classified times a billion?"  
  
"There _might_ be a couple tennis balls that are only classified times a thousand," Gwen offers after a minute. "Here, which of these is yours?"  
  
Lois peers into the bag and takes out her order. "Ta."  
  
  
  
They've nearly finished eating when Andy returns, carrying a shoebox.  
  
"That's it?" Rhys asks. "They dragged you down there for _that?_ "  
  
"Just wait til you see what's inside."  
  
The kitchen has mostly been converted into a storage area. The fridge is still almost filled with leftovers, and aside from fixing a minor leak (which was absolutely, positively, _in no way_ Rhys' fault) they haven't touched the sink. But the cupboards and drawers, at least, are empty except of boxes quite similar to the one Andy has just brought back, each one carefully reorganized and inventoried.  
  
Andy sets the box in the middle of the table and takes the lid off carefully. They'd learned the hard way not to just dump it out -- Gwen had been neither present nor amused. Well, a little amused. Retroactively.  
  
"Christ," Rhys says.  
  
"Is that a gun?" Lois asks.  
  
Andy just beams, having known well enough to do the 'squealing like a little girl' thing before returning to base.  
  
Gwen ignores the sonic blaster in favour of staring at the rest of the box's contacts.  
  
"Gwen?" Rhys asks after a while.  
  
"This is Jack's stuff," she says.  
  
The box goes into a cupboard, uninventoried.  
  
  
  
The Weevil lunges.  
  
It's head jerks to the side before she hears the bang. Gunshot. Two more follow, one to it's shoulder and the other in it's back, before it collapses in front of her. Gwen stares at it in disbelief for a second before looking around for the source of the shots.  
  
"You looked like you could use a hand," Agent Johnson says, sliding her gun back into it's holster as she approaches. She looks at the Weevil. "What is it?"  
  
"Weevil." She prods it with her boot; it doesn't move. "As a rule we try to capture them, not kill them."  
  
"So I should have let it eat your face, then?"  
  
"Ah. No. Just... for future reference."  
  
"Noted." She smirks.  
  
"I take it you've considered my offer?"  
  
She spreads her hands. "I'm here, aren't I?"  
  
"Good. Come on, then. I'll have Lois get started on your paperwork while we dispose of this." She prods the Weevil again, just in case, then walks around and grabs the feet. "What are you waiting for? Grab the arms and let's go. Someone probably heard those gunshots. The last thing we need is to have to deal with the police."  
  
  
  
"This is your base?" Johnson asks, looking around. "It's so... tiny."  
  
"Yes, well, we had a bigger one," Gwen says lightly. "But someone went and blew it up." Johnson has the grace to look embarrassed. "Where are the boys?"  
  
"There was another sighting, down by the docks," Lois answers, turning a rather large stack of paperwork over to Johnson. "You'll need to sign these."  
  
Johnson flips through them. "There are six different nondisclosure agreements in here."  
  
"Yes, there are," Gwen says, snagging a pen from the mug on the countertop that serves as her desk and pushing it into her hand. "Sign them."  
  
"Gwen," Lois says as soon as Johnson sits down. "Before you go after boys, there is one thing."  
  
"Well spit it out," she says when Lois hesitates. "I'd like to still have a husband at the end of the day."  
  
"I'm sure they'll be-"  
  
"Lois."  
  
"You got a call. From a Detective Inspector Swanson." She glances around the room and pulls a post-it off the doorframe. "Here. She wants you to call her 'next time you go shooting monsters in alleys, so she doesn't end up wasting time and manpower on things that are clearly above her paygrade'. I took down the number."  
  
Gwen looks sidelong at Johnson. "We're probably going to need it." She crosses the room and opens up what used to be the linen closet. "Did the boys take _all_ the mace?"  
  
"I managed to save you one." Lois reaches behind the endtable her laptop is currently sat on and tosses the can in Gwen's direction. "Good luck."  
  
Gwen flashes her a grateful smile and is out the door before she can say another word. Lois grins to herself.  
  
  
  
A bullet hits the wall behind her head and a second later she's pulled down behind a shipping container.  
  
"What in _hell-_ " she snaps as soon as she's sure it's her own team that's grabbed her. "Who's shooting at us?"  
  
"No idea," Rhys says. "They just started shooting. Scared the Weevil off, too, we almost had it."  
  
Gwen looks at Andy. "How much of that is true?"  
  
"He's trying to impress you," Andy says. "We weren't even close."  
  
"Traitor," Rhys mutters.  
  
"She can tell when I'm lying!"  
  
"It's true, I can."  
  
"Anyway, the bit about the shooter is true," Andy says, as if that will make up for the heinous transgression of embarrassing Rhys in front of his wife.  
  
"Right." She takes her gun out and hands it to Andy. "Here, shoot back. I have to make a call."  
  
"Why does he get to shoot back?" Rhys whines.  
  
"Because when I had Lois book _him_ time at the shooting range he actually went, instead of sitting home whinging about a papercut. Now hush, it's ringing."  
  
  
  
Kathy Swanson answers a lot of phone calls and they're usually fairly routine. Some days she feels like she's got enough practice to make a decent living as a telephone operator, should she ever leave the force. Which she doesn't plan on doing. Ever. It's more idle speculation than anything else. Some days she has a lot of time to speculate.  
  
Other days she gets back from her lunch break to things like, "You've got a call from Torchwood on line one."  
  
She braces herself before answering. "Swanson."  
  
 _"If I call you in the middle of an emergency to tell you not to send the troops in, like you_ asked _me to, I don't expect to be put on hold for- No, nevermind, look, as per --_ For godsake Andy, it's a handgun not a rocketlauncher, just point and shoot. I thought you'd done this. -- _Sorry. As per your request, if you get any calls about a gunfight down by the docks --_ Give Rhys the gun. Just give Rhys the gun, Andy! He can't do any worse than you. -- _you might want to just ignore them and --_ If you shoot your own foot off you'll have no one to blame but yourself. Aim higher. Up, up, up! Christ. -- _and go about your day, okay?"_  
  
"Are you all right?" Kathy asks, concerned.  
  
 _"Just dandy. I should have had Lois make this call --_ That's it, give it back. We get out of here, I'm locking you both in the shooting range and you're not getting out til you can actually hit something. _Anything_. Except each other, you're such children. -- _If you'll excuse me, detective, I have to-"_  
  
"End a gunfight down by the docks," Kathy drawls. "Don't worry, we'll stay away." A second later she adds, "Thank you," but the line is already dead.  
  
  
  
Gwen manages to get a couple shots off before their assailant vanishes completely. They do a quick but thorough search of the area and turn up nothing, so they return to the apartment, thankfully unharmed.  
  
"Lois, give me some good news," Gwen says, first thing in the door.  
  
"There are now two people on the team who can shoot accurately," Lois says automatically.  
  
Rhys scowls and stalks into the kitchen; Andy just blushes.  
  
Gwen tries unsuccessfully to hide her grin. "And where is Ms. Johnson?"  
  
"I sent her to secure a shooting range for the boys. You think three days will be enough?"  
  
Rhys splutters incoherently for a second then storms back through, grabbing Andy by the shoulder and dragging him along. " _We_ are going to the Pub."  
  
Andy manages to half turn around and give Gwen a helpless look before he's dragged out of sight. Gwen sends him a look in response that she hopes conveys the sentiment: _If he's too drunk to walk, keep him or I'm docking your pay._  
  
Then she and Lois burst into giggles.  
  
"Seriously, though," she says when they're done. "We need to figure out who was shooting at us and why."  
  
"I might be able to answer that last bit, actually," Lois says, reaching over to drag her laptop to them. "Turns out about one week every twenty years or so the Weevils... go into heat, for lack of a better term."  
  
Gwen wrinkles her nose. "That's..."  
  
"Oh, it gets worse. If they-" She does a hand gesture; Gwen's face is a thing of beauty. "-during this week they secrete this chemical that can be used for- You really don't want to know. _I_ don't want to know. Any chance I could get some-"  
  
"Retcon doesn't work that way."  
  
She sighs. "I know. Just...eugh." She shudders theatrically. "Anyway. We have a calendar that claims this week is Weevil mating season."  
  
"And you think someone is taking Weevils off the street in order to force them to- in order to collect this chemical?" Lois nods. "It's a good theory. Disgusting, but... I know I'm going to regret asking this, but what exactly does this chemical do?" Lois tips the laptop so she can see it. " _Oh my god!_ "  
  
  
  
"Are you sure this is the place?" Lois asks, watching discretely from a cafe across the street.  
  
"It looks like a swinger club."  
  
Up goes Lois' eyebrow.  
  
Andy blushes. "Youthful indiscretion," he mutters.  
  
"Oh, I have to hear this." She leans across the table.  
  
"Year Eleven, Jessie Allens, her idea. Can we move on?"  
  
 _"That's the place,"_ Gwen says through the headset. _"If anyone is using Weevil chemicals, it's these guys."_  
  
"Lucky us you sent the two cutest Torchwood operatives to check it out," Lois says.  
  
 _"Oi!"  
  
"Rhys, shut up. Lois, quit trying to make Andy blush. We have work to do."_  
  
"But mo~m," Lois protests half-heartedly. "All right, fine. It's too easy, anyway. What do you want us to do?"  
  
 _"Guess."_  
  
  
  
"Never make me do that again," Andy says, heading straight for the kitchen.  
  
"Didn't go well?" Gwen asks sympathetically.  
  
"It went fine," Lois says, flopping down onto the couch.  
  
"She's evil!" Andy yells.  
  
"He's adorable when he's mad," Lois says, loudly enough for him to hear.  
  
"Lois, what did you _do_ to him?"  
  
"Nothing!"  
  
" _Lois._ "  
  
"Honestly." She sits up. "Do you want to hear what we found out or not?"  
  
While Lois is reporting Andy slinks back into the room and continues to sulk against the back wall. He's just about gotten over it by the time Rhys and Johnson get back from the shooting range.  
  
"How'd it go?" Rhys asks. Andy scowls. "All right, forget I asked."  
  
"Lois, you want to give them the cliffnotes version?"  
  
"There's no sign of the chemical in the public part of the club. But there's a back room. Invitation only. Might be worth checking out."  
  
"So how do we get our hands on an invitation?" Johnson asks.  
  
"Maybe we don't have to," Lois says after a minute.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well... don't kill me all right? I might have gone through that box of stuff you put away. In my spare time."  
  
Gwen just nods, once. "Show me what you found."  
  
Lois goes into the kitchen.  
  
"Gwen?" Rhys asks, hand on her shoulder. "You all right? You know she didn't mean-"  
  
"I'm fine. It's a good idea. We should have gone through it before."  
  
Rhys doesn't look particularly convinced.  
  
Lois comes back into the room before he can say anything else and hands Gwen what looks like a wallet.  
  
Gwen flips it open. "'I'm sorry'?" she reads.  
  
"Stray thought," Lois says. "Sorry."  
  
"It shows what you're thinking?" Gwen asks, frowning slightly.  
  
"As far as I can tell. Yeah."  
  
Gwen stares at it for a while, visualizing or whatever, until she's satisfied. She nods and tosses it back to Lois. "Okay. Take Johnson and find us those chemicals." When no one moves she waves her hands at the door. "Go on, shoo."  
  
  
  
There is, naturally, another Weevil sighting not ten minutes after they leave.  
  
Gwen looks at Rhys. "Please tell me you learned something today."  
  
"I did all right."  
  
"That'll have to do," she says after a second of hesitation. She crosses to the linen-cabinet-turned-armoury and gives him a gun and a can of mace. "Let's go." She pokes her head back into the apartment a second later, "Andy, be a dear and give Detective Swanson a call, okay?"  
  
  
  
"This cannot keep happening," she snaps angrily, peering around the corner. A bullet whizzes by her head; she shoots back.  
  
The Weevil roars, caught between Torchwood and their invisible assailant.  
  
"We could just let them have it," Rhys suggests.  
  
"Not on your life." She ducks back behind the wall. There's a bang, but no bullet, then silence. "What-?"  
  
"Agent Cooper!" Swanson's voice rings out. "It's safe to come out now!"  
  
Gwen and Rhys exchange a look, then step out from behind the wall. Even the Weevil looks confused.  
  
"Detective Swanson?"  
  
"Here." She stops into view, dragging a kid just barely the right side sixteen. She nods at the Weevil. "I'm going to pretend I don't see that."  
  
"Good call," Gwen says. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I've got the same basic call from you six times now. I figured it would save me a lot of trouble if I just took care of the problem for you."  
  
Gwen ignores the slight in favour of looking at the kid. "What about him?"  
  
"Well, I can't pretend I didn't catch him in the process of firing an illegal firearm."  
  
"I need to talk to him."  
  
"Then you can come by my office later." She drags the kid out of the alley.  
  
Taking the Weevil down is strangely anti-climactic after that.  
  
  
  
When Lois and Johnson still haven't returned by the next morning Gwen starts to worry.  
  
When they finally stumble into the apartment around five pm, looking punchdrunk but otherwise unharmed, she's furious.  
  
"Relax, boss," Lois slurs. "It's not what you think."  
  
"Oh?" she asks archly. "You know I sent the boys to search for you? My luck they're probably down at the Pub by now. Where have you been?"  
  
"Here and there," Johnson singsongs. "But mostly there. Not here."  
  
Lois giggles to herself then sits straight up as if she's just remembered where she is. "They put the chemical in the drinks."  
  
"They dosed us!" Johnson exclaims, as if it weren't the most glaringly obvious fact in all of existence.  
  
Gwen rolls her eyes. "No, really?"  
  
"Yes! Really!"  
  
"And and and and and," Lois says, then stops, looking puzzled.  
  
"And?" Gwen prompts.  
  
"And! And they're keeping the Weevils... under the building! In the... attic!"  
  
"Basement."  
  
"Yeah, that. But they're gonna... something. Soon. Tonight. Nikki, what're they gonna do?"  
  
"Move 'em for killing," Johnson says. "And don't call me Nikki."  
  
"Gwen," Lois whispers once Johnson is distracted by her shoelaces. "Did you know our Nikki is a lesbian?"  
  
Gwen blinks. "Is that in any way relevant?"  
  
Lois frowns like she's seriously considering the question, then shrugs. "No. But it's interesting. Totally explains the gun thing."  
  
"Oi!" Johnson says. "Stereotyping!"  
  
"True though," Lois counters.  
  
"Do you know where they're taking the Weevils?" Gwen asks slowly.  
  
"Um," Johnson says. "To a place?"  
  
"Oh, that's very helpful." She sighs. "How about when?"  
  
"After the party ends. Tonight." Johnson finally manages to disentangle herself, but falls on her arse when she tries to pull both shoes off at the same time.  
  
"Please tell me you didn't drive like this."  
  
"Course not," Lois says. "We're not _idiots_."  
  
Gwen fixes her with a level stare, then shakes her head fondly. "No, you're not. Okay. Is there anything else?"  
  
"Hmmmmm... nope. That's everything."  
  
"Right. I'll deal with it. As for you two." She claps her hands together to get their eyes on her and points to the once-bedroom door. The room has been emptied of everything aside from one uncomfortable cot on either wall (for emergencies only), a ridiculous mural Rhys claims gives it character (and Gwen pretends to agree because it was either there or in their living room and this way she doesn't have to look at it every day), and a plush carpet.  
  
"But Gwen-"  
  
"But nothing. We don't have a decontamination chamber." She locks the closet, which is currently home to a couple of filing cabinets, and waves them in. Lois actually pouts. "You know the rules. In you go."  
  
She takes Lois' keys and Johnson's gun as they file in.  
  
"This is silly," Johnson says.  
  
"Cos I'm gonna lock you in here, high as a kite, with Lois and a gun?"  
  
"Don't do that," Lois says from where she's decided to lay down, on the floor between the two cots. "Please don't do that. I don't wanna die."  
  
Johnson scowls at her.  
  
"Play nice, you two," Gwen warns, backing out of the room. "One of us will come by later to let you out. Hopefully it'll wear off by morning."  
  
She locks the door from the outside.  
  
  
  
"Rhys, pick up your bloody phone," Gwen mutters the third time it goes to answerphone, pacing in front of the apartment complex. "If you think I won't fire you just because we're married, you've got another thing coming, buddy."  
  
The fourth time she calls, he answers. Sort of. Nothing he says is at all comprehensible and she's pretty sure she can hear Andy's off-key singing in the background.  
  
"I give up. You're both fired," she says. That earns her an almost intelligible protest before she hangs up and immediately dials again. "This isn't another courtesy call. I need to ask for a favour." Silence. "Detective Swanson?"  
  
 _"I'm listening."_ She doesn't sound openly hostile, which Gwen takes as encouragement.  
  
"There's a thing I need to do, a place I need to go, tonight, right now. It's got to do with the distribution of an illegal substance whose origin is... ah, classified."  
  
 _"Uh-huh. And this involves me how?"_  
  
"My girls have been drugged and my boys are three sheets to the wind. I'd really prefer not to go into this place without backup."  
  
 _"And you want me?"_ Swanson asks after a minute.  
  
"If you're up to it."  
  
 _"As a favour,"_ she clarifies.  
  
"Yes, I will owe you one forever." Gwen rolls her eyes.  
  
 _"No, I didn't mean- you're actually asking."_  
  
"Um... yes? So what do you say?"  
  
 _"Where do you want to meet?"_  
  
  
  
"You forgot to mention we were breaking into the basement of a sex club," Swanson says, eyeing the (currently) empty alleyway with distaste.  
  
"Did I?" Gwen asks distractedly, not looking up from the lock she's currently picking. "Oops."  
  
Swanson mumbles something but the only words Gwen picks up are "bloody Torchwood" so she chooses to ignore them.  
  
The door swings open easily once the lock releases and they peer down the stairs into the dark.  
  
"So who goes first?"  
  
"You do," Swanson says, almost laughing. "I'm just backup. No way I'm wandering into a den of monsters without seeing what I'm up against."  
  
"Weevils have nests," Gwen says automatically, starting down the stairs.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nests, not dens. And they're not monsters, we don't call them that. They're... scary and violent and different, but they're not monsters."  
  
"Ri~ght. Are you supposed to be telling me this?"  
  
"It's okay, I can just retcon you later."  
  
A beat.  
  
"Do I want to know what that means?"  
  
"Not even a little bit."  
  
There's another door at the bottom of the stairs. It creaks when Gwen pushes it open, revealing a hallway lined with rows of cells not unlike those formerly used by Torchwood Three. She counts roughly eight Weevils.  
  
"They usually wear jumpsuits," she says quickly, carefully not looking into any of the cages. "Just ignore them, we want the ones who put them in here."  
  
"This is a bit more difficult to ignore than a single monster - sorry, weeble-"  
  
"Weevil."  
  
"Whatever." Her eyes keep darting to the cages as they make their way across the room. "Are they...?"  
  
"Yes. The, uh, illegal substance I mentioned earlier is created when they, uh..."  
  
"That's disgusting."  
  
"You don't know the half of it. They use the stuff-"  
  
"I swear to god, if you finish that sentence I'm leaving you in here by yourself."  
  
Gwen grins. "Understood."  
  
  
  
The door at the other end of the room opens, revealing a man _maybe_ twenty-two years old. Or a trillion. There've been stranger things.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" he asks. He doesn't seem to be intimidated by the guns they're pointing at him.  
  
Never a good sign, that.  
  
"Torchwood," Gwen says at the same time Swanson says, "Police."  
  
" _Torchwood_ ," Gwen repeats. Swanson grumbles but doesn't contradict her; Gwen counts that as a win.  
  
"What's that when it's at home, then?" the guy asks.  
  
"Seriously? You've never heard of Torchwood?"  
  
She can _hear_ Swanson smirking behind her.  
  
"I'm new to the area," he says with a shrug.  
  
"What, Earth?"  
  
He shrugs again.  
  
"Of course you are." Gwen sighs.  
  
"Wait. So the kid we have in lock-up... is an alien?" Swanson asks.  
  
"You get used to it," Gwen says. Swanson doesn't look reassured.  
  
"Okay, Torchwood, what do you want?"  
  
"Let's start with a name. Yours, preferably."  
  
"Nick. And yours?"  
  
"Gwen. We put our guns away, you gonna run off or try to kill us?"  
  
"Nope." He sits down on the stair and looks at them.  
  
Gwen holsters her weapon and nods at Swanson to do the same. Swanson gives her an incredulous look, then follows suit. "Let's talk about the Weevils."  
  
"You mean the vermin? You want 'em you can have 'em, okay? I don't need 'em anymore."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yeah, mating season's over. No more leate, so they're useless to me. I was just gonna get rid of 'em, but if you wanna take 'em off my hands, feel free."  
  
"I, er."  
  
Swanson coughs.  
  
"Yes, something to add, detective?"  
  
"Thank you." Swanson addresses Nick. "You do know your 'leate' is a controlled substance on this planet?" It only sounds a little bit awkward coming out of her mouth; not like she doesn't believe it but like she doesn't believe she's _saying_ it. Like she's surprised how comfortable the words sit with her.  
  
For the first time Nick starts to look worried. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah, really. There are some pretty strict laws about regarding it's collection and distribution. Heavy fines... you could do time."  
  
"I... didn't know that."  
  
"Yeah, well, ignorance of the law and all that," Gwen says, breaking in before Swanson can impress her too much. "Not to mention the part where your partner started taking shots at my team."  
  
"He's not my partner, he's my kid brother. And he's an idiot."  
  
"I could have told you that," Swanson murmurs.  
  
"Hush, you. Nick, do you have a ship around here somewhere?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Now is not the time to be lying to us," Swanson says sternly.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Good. Get it prepped to go. My good friend Detective Swanson here is going to release your brother from lock-up, and you're both going to leave this planet and never come back. And then we're all going to pretend this never happened. Got it?"  
  
Nick shrugs.  
  
"I'm going to take that as a yes. We're going to go now. I'll send someone by to pick up the Weevils in the morning, I expect them all to be alive. And you to be gone." She turns on her heel. "Come on, detective. I think I owe you a drink or three."  
  
"What, that's it? Really?" Swanson asks, dogging her footsteps. "That's how you're going to deal with that?"  
  
"There's nothing you can charge him with and it's not like we're equipped to keep prisoners," Gwen points out. "And since the Weevil's won't be mating again until 2030-something, I don't foresee this being an issue again."  
  
"Until 2030-something."  
  
"Obviously."  
  
  
  
"So if you can't keep prisoners, what do you do with the Weevils?" Swanson asks, well into her third glass of whatever it is she's drinking. Gwen is _not_ drinking, because with her job she figures her baby has enough to deal with without adding fetal alcohol syndrome into the mix. "You can't just let them go."  
  
"No. We lock them up, just not in a jail cell. Not in anything you'd want to lock a person in."  
  
"What, then?"  
  
"Big metal shipping containers, the kind Rhys' trucks carry around," Gwen says after a minute. "The benefits of having a husband with a second job."  
  
"And these are, what, in a field somewhere?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous. They're in the truck lot. If we moved them it would look suspicious."  
  
"Oh, can't have that. Torchwood looking suspicious." Swanson rolls her eyes. Gwen rolls hers right back. "One thing, I've been wondering."  
  
She stops, like she's not sure if she's drunk enough, so Gwen refills her glass. She touches the retcon in her pocket with her fingertips, considering.  
  
"The first time we met," Swanson goes on after draining the glass. "Whole different team, yeah?"  
  
"Yeah," Gwen says roughly. Swanson might be drunk enough for this conversation but she most decidedly _isn't_. "Brilliant, ridiculous team."  
  
"They were prats," Swanson pronounces. "You're much better now."  
  
"I, er, thanks. I think."  
  
Swanson nods. "So what happened?"  
  
Gwen shakes her head, and leaves the retcon in her pocket. "Nothing good. You really want to know, have Lois send you a copy of the reports. I'll make sure she knows it's okay."  
  
"Okay." She lifts her glass, realizes it's empty, and sets it down again. Then, as if they're in the middle of a conversation and it's the next logical thing to say, she says, "If you're going to keep calling me for help, you can call me Kathy."  
  
"Thank you," Gwen says carefully. "Gwen."  
  
"Okay good. We're even, then."  
  
And that's the last coherent word she says before Gwen has to call her a taxi.  
  
  
  
"We're out of bullets," Johnson says.  
  
"So have Lois requisition more."  
  
"She says I've reached my limit."  
  
Gwen looks up. "How shocking. What do you need bullets for right now?"  
  
"She doesn't!" Lois calls across the room. "She's just wasting them and costing us money. At least the boys _need_ practice."  
  
"Oi!"  
  
"Hush," Gwen says automatically. "It's true."  
  
"I feel useless without a loaded gun," Johnson mutters.  
  
"Baby."  
  
"Just because it's not loaded doesn't mean I can't hurt you with it."  
  
Andy meeps and ducks behind Lois, who immediately stands up and walks away. He gapes at her.  
  
Gwen ignores the two of them in favour if staring intently at Johnson. "Can I trust you?"  
  
"I'd like to think so."  
  
"So would I." She stands up. "Come with me."  
  
Johnson follows her into the kitchen; she can feel the tingling edge of the _world-is-about-to-open-up_ feeling creeping over her skin and she doesn't know why yet, but she's learned to trust it.  
  
Gwen gets into one of cupboards and takes out something that looks like a gun, but not like any gun Johnson's ever seen before.  
  
"Jack never taught me how to use this," she says when Johnson stops staring at it and focuses on her again. "I don't think he liked sharing his toys. So you take it to the shooting range and you learn _exactly_ how it works before you even _consider_ taking it into the field. Understood?"  
  
Johnson wets her lips, already nodding. "Yes."  
  
Gwen hands her the gun.  
  
The world opens up.  
  
  
  
"Torchwood," Lois says, picking up the phone. "Just a second. Gwen, Detective Swanson is on the line. Should I-?"  
  
"Put her through, yeah. Thanks, Lois."  
  
Lois patches the call through the Gwen's headset.  
  
"Hello, Kathy," Gwen says. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"  
  
 _"You're really not going to like this. I have something here that belongs to you."_  
  
Gwen considers all the things she could mean by that and decides it can't be anything good. "Where are you?"  
  
She arrives at the address not ten minutes later, gun in hand. She's been going through scenarios in her head the whole way, but she still isn't expecting the sight that greets her.  
  
Kathy leans against one wall, eyes trained on the unconcious Weevil slumped against the other. She doesn't even look away when Gwen says her name, just waves vaguely.  
  
"Kathy," Gwen tries again.  
  
"It attacked us while we were walking back from lunch," Kathy says. "Sanders and Mallory got a pretty good look at it, before they ran away. Do you have a procedure for that?"  
  
"Retcon," Gwen says. "I'll walk you through it after to tell me how you managed to knock a Weevil out without any assistance."  
  
"Akido. I started when I was twelve."  
  
"Impressive." She taps her headset. "Lois, send the boys out with the van." Once Lois confirms she turns her attention back to Kathy. "I'll stay until the boys get here, but you don't have to."  
  
"I don't mind-"  
  
"Liar. Here." She pushes two retcon tablets into Kathy's palm. "Take your Sanders and Mallory out for drinks. Slip them one pill each, they'll wake up tomorrow with no memory of the Weevil."  
  
Kathy does look at her now, sharply. "This is what you do? Wipe the memory of everyone who stumbles into Torchwood business?"  
  
"Not everyone. Go, we can talk about it later."  
  
  
  
Gwen gets into Jack's Box one day and discovers that the only thing left inside it is his wriststrap. She lifts it out.  
  
"Whatcha doing?" Rhys asks, coming up behind her.  
  
She jumps, dropping the wriststrap. "Bloody hell, Rhys. Don't sneak up on me like that."  
  
"Sorry." He picks it up and turns it over. "What are you doing with this?"  
  
"Finding another place to put it, I think. It's silly to waste a whole box on just one little thing."  
  
He nods. "You should wear it."  
  
"I don't think-" she starts. "I mean, I'm not-"  
  
"It's a leader-y thing, innit? You're the leader. For now, anyway."  
  
She hesitates. "Okay, fine." She holds out her wrist and he fixes the wriststrap on it. "But only until Jack comes back."  
  
"Whenever that is." He kisses her. "Don't forget we have to be at the doctor's office by noon."  
  
She rolls her eyes. "I'm hardly likely to forget our first ultrasound."  
  
"You did miss the last one," he points out.  
  
"We were attacked. You were there."  
  
"I'm just saying-"  
  
"You're just being a nuisance is what you are. Go on, get. I know you have paperwork you could be doing."  
  
"I think you're letting this leadership thing go to your head." He grins and scoots out of the kitchen when she goes to swat him.  
  
  
  
 _"I have a woman here,"_ Kathy says without preamble. _"Nicole Johnson. Says she's one of yours. Is she telling me the truth?"_  
  
"That depends," Gwen says slowly. "What's she done?"  
  
Kathy hesitates. _"I've been sworn to secrecy."_  
  
"Yeah, that doesn't work for me."  
  
 _"Don't worry, it's nothing I can't fix."_  
  
"Come work for me," Gwen says without thinking about it.  
  
 _"Sorry, not interested."_ She pauses. _"You know, we never did have that talk."_  
  
"Do we need to?"  
  
 _"I gave Sanders and Mallory your retcon pills."_  
  
"I know. And?"  
  
 _"I don't like it. It's not right, messing with peoples minds like that."_  
  
Gwen nods, even though she knows Kathy can't see her. "Feel better now?"  
  
 _"I'd feel better if I could come up with an alternative for you."_  
  
"Seriously," Gwen says. "Come work for me."  
  
Kathy laughs. _"I already have a job."_  
  
"This is a better one."  
  
  
  
The ultrasound goes well; the baby is a boy.  
  
With this news comes the inevitable: phone calls every day about when the babyshower is going to be. Gwen decides she really doesn't want to have one. Her parents, Rhys' parents, all that fussing, she _does not_ want to deal with that.  
  
Just days after making this decision she returns home to find a handmade cradle sat in the middle of the nursery, a big white sticker attached to the side adverting "A not-shower gift, NJ".  
  
The next day a fancy stroller appears on the front porch, the sort with a zillion bells and whistles and umbrellas and a seat that pulls out to become a carseat. There's a card from Lois attached.  
  
Over the course of the next two weeks, various other gifts arrive. From the members of her team, from her parents, from Rhys' parents, from Kathy, from the girl who works down at the pub, from people whose names she just barely recognizes.  
  
One day an unmarked package arrives; inside is a nice white bib with a picture of a blue duck on it, and a tiny scrap of paper with the word "Congratulations" scrawled on it.  
  
"It's from him, innit?" Rhys asks.  
  
Gwen nods. Of course it is.  
  
  
  
"This is getting to be a habit," Kathy says, dragging Gwen to her feet and around the corner just before the blast hits. "Don't you have a team?"  
  
"They're pinned down two blocks over. Where did you come from?"  
  
"I was across the street. You're lucky I even saw you." She looks Gwen over. "You look like hell."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Kathy shrugs. "Where's your gun?"  
  
"I dropped it."  
  
"Excellent. I carry two. Here." She hands one over and gets the other one out. "What are we shooting at?"  
  
"Good question," Gwen answers.  
  
"This just gets better and better," Kathy mutters.  
  
"I'd tell you if I knew."  
  
"I know," Kathy says. She blinks, surprised to find she believes herself. "Why? I never signed any of your nondisclosure forms."  
  
"You also haven't run screaming to the media. That's what trust looks like. Come on, I have dinner plans." She goes around the corner first.  
  
"Did you mean it?" Kathy asks later, when Gwen returns her gun. "When you asked me to join you."  
  
"Absolutely," Gwen says instantly. "Are you reconsidering your answer?"  
  
"I haven't decided yet."  
  
"Yes you have."


	3. The One Where They Decide They Need A Doctor

It's actually something of a miracle none of them have been seriously injured before now, considering how much training most of them _don't have_.  
  
  
  
It happens like this:  
  
Rhys, Johnson, and Andy are chasing a Weevil, which is normal. The Weevil is also being chased by what appears to be a cross between an alligator and a pitbull, which is not.  
  
Johnson gets a shot off with the sonic blaster, which takes out a rather large chunk of the sidewalk. By a stroke of incredibly bad luck, Rhys manages to get his leg caught in the hole.  
  
While the other two rush ahead to secure the Weevil, the alligator-pitbull catches up with Rhys. By the time they return for him, he's nearly screamed himself hoarse and has given up on trying to pry it's jaws away from his leg.  
  
Gwen is understandably less than pleased.  
  
  
  
They don't have a doctor.  
  
Other things they don't have: actual cells, a proper morgue, a functional teapot, an autopsy bay, enough space in the apartment for all six of them to exist comfortably.  
  
  
  
It takes six hours, fifteen different lies, and a lot more of Torchwood's money than anyone wants to know about to get Rhys taken care of quietly in hospital.  
  
This clearly can't be allowed to happen again.  
  
  
  
Gwen fusses.  
  
It starts off kind of cute and the sort of thing that makes Rhys sure she's going to be an amazing mother, but by the second week he's starting to get sick of it.  
  
He wants to roll his eyes every time she asks him if he's all right, but she's been pregnant for three months now and he's learned not to intentionally annoy her.  
  
At least, not while he can barely hobble away.  
  
  
  
"We could really use a doctor of our own," he tells Lois.  
  
"I know. Any ideas?"  
  
He shakes his head. Of course he doesn't.  
  
Gwen has an idea.  
  
  
  
"How long will you be gone for?"  
  
"I don't know. Depends on how cooperative UNIT are."  
  
"Probably not very," Johnson mutters. "If your doctor friend is any good, they won't want to lose her."  
  
Gwen nods. "I know. Are you sure you'll be okay while I'm gone?"  
  
"We'll be fine."  
  
  
  
Kathy runs things surprisingly well, considering the differences between running Torchwood and running a police station.  
  
Differences include but are not limited to: aliens, Andy and Lois behaving like children, aliens, Johnson, aliens, sheer amount of classifed data, aliens.  
  
  
  
Rhys expects to miss the fussing, but he doesn't get the chance to find out. Gwen calls every day, almost every few hours, to the point where he regrets his part in this entirely.  
  
Worse yet, she won't let Kathy take him off sick leave until she gets back with Martha and "she can check you over to make sure those NHS doctors didn't bollocks anything up".  
  
He's beginning to suspect that the woman he married is much more devious than he's given her credit for.


	4. Tin Dogs And Trap Doors Part One

Let us begin in the midst of Gwen's absence from the Cardiff branch of Torchwood. As our story unfolds, she is away with UNIT, trying to woo Martha Jones away from her cushy job as a military doctor and into a more satisfying position as a Torchwood operative. We can assume it isn't going wall, as it has been several weeks since she set out on this quest and no progress has yet been made.  
  
At the Torchwood apartment, things are going about as well as can be expected.  
  
  
  
"Lois, quit pulling Andy's pigtails," Kathy says absently, not looking up from her computer screen. She frowns. "And then come over here and tell me if I'm reading this right."  
  
Andy sticks his tongue out at Lois' back after she walks by.  
  
"I saw that," Johnson says.  
  
Lois perches on the armrest beside Kathy. "Whatcha got?"  
  
"If I knew what I had I wouldn't need a second opinion," Kathy points out. She angles the screen so Lois can see, then taps the reading in question. "Here. What do you see?"  
  
Lois frowns. "It looks like Rift activity, except... not."  
  
"Exactly. What do you think it is?"  
  
"A trap," Johnson says, tossing her rubberband ball into the air. She's been working on it since Gwen left; it's nearly the size of her fist now. "It's obviously a trap. So the question _really_ is, what are we going to do about it?"  
  
"Obviously the smart thing to do would be to ignore it," Lois says. "But what are the chances of _that_ happening?"  
  
Kathy ignores her. "How do you fake Rift activity, anyway?"  
  
"Cleverly," Andy says.  
  
"If you aren't going to be helpful-"  
  
"I wasn't trying to- Look, I just meant it takes more tech savvy than we've got put together. Unless one of you ladies have some secret hacking skills, we'll have to check it out to figure out the how to."  
  
"He's right," Johnson says after a beat. "For high tech alien hunters we suck at the high tech part."  
  
Lois sighs. "So we're going to go walk into a trap?"  
  
Kathy gives her a look. "Did you expect anything else?"  
  
"I shouldn't have."  
  
"That's what I thought. Do you want to drive or coordinate?"  
  
"Is that a trick question?"  
  
"It wasn't, no."  
  
"I'd prefer to not walk into a trap, then, thanks."  
  
"Keys," Kathy demands, then catches them when Lois tosses them across the room to her. "Try not to blow anything up while we're gone."  
  
"That was one time," she protests.  
  
"One time too many," Andy singsongs, ducking out the door.  
  
Lois looks at Johnson. "Smack him for me, will you?"  
  
Johnson grins. "On it."  
  
Kathy rolls her eyes. "Lois, Gwen is scheduled to call in at one. We should be back by then, but if we're not-"  
  
"Don't mention the trap you're stupidly walking into?"  
  
"Bingo." She sighs. "I can't believe I'm doing this."  
  
"Not too late to change your mind," Lois offers.  
  
"Yes it is." She claps Lois on the shoulder. "I'll call you when we get close."  
  
"And I'll call you if something changes. Good luck."  
  
  
  
"If this mission had been called Operation: Failure," Johnson says about an hour later, "It could not have gone worse."  
  
"Actually," Andy says, "If it had been called Operation: Failure this would be a resounding success."  
  
"He has a point," Kathy says, then mentally berates herself for being drawn into their childish banter.  
  
  
  
It hadn't started as a failure. Actually, in the beginning, it had seemed to be going _well_.  
  
Five minutes outside the faux Rift affected area, Kathy had called Lois. There were no changes in the reading, so they'd agreed to proceed. Well, agreed may be too strong a word. They'd proceeded, anyway.  
  
Lois had directed them to the center of the faux Rift activity, which had turned out to be a plain looking house on a plain looking street in a plain looking neighborhood. It couldn't have looked more innocent if it had tried.  
  
On reflection, that was probably deliberate. And also a sign.  
  
They'd knocked and, upon receiving no response, picked the lock. They went through the house carefully, room by room, and found nothing. Probably also a sign.  
  
The first sign they _noticed_ that things were about to go poorly was when the doors had locked behind them. It shouldn't have been any sort of problem, except that the locks had then refused to be picked. Then the windows refused to open. And the comms died, in the middle of Lois' "I told you so" monologue.  
  
The lights went out. Including the sun, where it had been coming through the windows.  
  
There was a lot of cursing.  
  
Then, after a bit, they had fumbled out their mobiles to use as torches. Andy had tried to knock one of the windows out and, when that only resulted in embarrassment and bruises, Johnson had blasted a hole in the wall with the sonic blaster, which was a better plan anyway.  
  
Kathy had poked her head through the hole and looked around. There was enough light to see by but not much more than that. And there was fog, and an absense of sun, but otherwise the street looked exactly the same as it had when they'd gone in the house.  
  
"Once more into the breach," she'd muttered, stepping out. She was pretty sure no one got it.  
  
"Spooky," Andy had said, looking around.  
  
Then the fog had swirled around them and everything had gone a little bit gray. And it didn't stop being gray.  
  
"Excellent," Kathy had said.  
  
  
  
Half an hour after the comms go dead and her teammates lifesigns are absorbed into the false readout on her screen, Lois is about ready to throw the towel in and call Gwen herself. This is, naturally, the perfect time for a weevil sighting.  
  
She picks up the phone. "Rhys? Gwen and Kathy are going to kill me later, but how's your leg? Feel up to some weevil hunting?"  
  
They meet on a street corner about half a block from the sighting. She hands him a can of mace and a gun.  
  
"Where's the van?" he asks.  
  
"I parked around the corner. I'll go get it once we secure the weevil."  
  
He nods and they set off. "Want to explain where everyone else is?"  
  
"If I knew where they were, you wouldn't be here." She spots movement ahead. "Ready?"  
  
"For about a week now," he mutters.  
  
She grins, already in motion. It takes less than five minutes to take it down, and they miraculously suffer no setbacks getting it from the alley to the van to the makeshift cells.  
  
"Thank you," Lois says, pulling up in front of the William's family home. "And don't tell anyone I let you out."  
  
"I would never," he says, hand on his heart mock-wounded. "The very suggestion."  
  
She laughs. "Yeah, you'd be in more trouble than I would. Get out, I have to be back at the flat before your wife calls to check in."  
  
"Aye, aye." He slides out of the seat, leaving the mace and gun behind. "Bye Lois."  
  
  
  
When Lois returns to the flat there's a man standing outside the door. Waiting. She thinks about the multiple laptops and bits of alien tech scattered around the flat and decides to put off opening the door until he's gone.  
  
"Can I help you?" she asks.  
  
"Maybe," he says. "Are you Torchwood?"  
  
"No, I'm Lois. Habiba. And you are?"  
  
"Mickey Smith. And that's funny, but I'm being serious here. You work for Torchwood, right?"  
  
She crosses her arms. "You shouldn't know that."  
  
"I shouldn't but I do. Are you going to do the denial thing now?"  
  
She briefly considers doing just that, but this has been a day for stupid decisions, so. "What would be the point? What do you want?"  
  
"Got a chat I'd like to have with your boss. Captain Jack?"  
  
"Jack doesn't work here anymore," Lois says, surprised. "Not for a few months now. I wouldn't have the slightest clue how to put you in contact."  
  
Mickey rolls his eyes. "Of course. Gwen Cooper, then."  
  
"She's away on business."  
  
"So who's in charge?"  
  
"Kathy Swanson. And she's indisposed. So I'll repeat, what do you want?"  
  
"A chance." At Lois' raised eyebrow, he goes on, "I've worked for Torchwood before-"  
  
"I've been through the archives, I never saw your name-"  
  
"-in a parallel universe," he amends. "It counts. I might not look like much, but-"  
  
"You look like trouble is what you look like."  
  
He grins. "I'm taking that as a compliment."  
  
"I wouldn't." She meets his eyes and sees no sign that he'll back down if she turns him away. She nods slowly. "Look, I can't make any promises-"  
  
"I'm not asking for any. Just a chance."  
  
She sighs. "You're lucky I need help today. How are you with computers?"  
  
  
  
The ground feels distinctly indistinct beneath Kathy's feet. There's a very un-ground-like give to it, like walking on a trampoline. It's disconcerting, but no worse than anything else in this place.  
  
They've mapped it out, essentially.  
  
It's a circular area, about a hundred metres in diameter. The air gets thicker the closer to the outside of the circle, until it's too thick to move through but not quite solid. It seems like the sort of place that would distort soundwaves, either dull them or cause endless echoes, but it does neither. And it's still all gray, everywhere, with nothing to break the monotony except the three of them.  
  
Their mobiles don't work, they discover in the first five minutes, not that any of them really expected them to. There's a brief moment about fifteen minutes into their imprisonment, before time ceases to have any practical meaning, when Johnson thinks it might be worth a shot to try to shoot their way out.  
  
First with the sonic blaster, which is absorbed into the gray, and then with actual bullets. After that, Kathy takes her weapons away and gives her a nice lecture on what would have happened had the bullets bounced instead of lodging themselves in the edge.  
  
  
  
"So... not a trap?" Lois asks doubtfully.  
  
"I don't think so," Mickey says. "More like a really pathetic attempt at a cover up. It's actually pretty funny."  
  
Lois frowns. "I don't think it's very funny."  
  
"Here," he says, spinning the laptop so she can see it. "What do you see?"  
  
"The fake Rift activity. I just showed you this."  
  
He taps a few keys. "And now?"  
  
The Rift activity clears up, leaving... "Nothing?"  
  
"Exactly." He spins it back and begins doing something Lois won't even pretend to understand. "Someone is manipulating your network to hide something you lot never would have seen in the first place."  
  
"Okay, when you put it like that it's a _little_ funny."  
  
"That's what I'm saying."  
  
" _But_ ," Lois says sharply, "My team went in there and vanished, and they didn't magically reappear just now."  
  
"Right. Well, your best bet is probably to pop in and find them yourself. I mean, scans are obviously useless and they're not likely to have gone far."  
  
"Unless whoever made the fake Rift activity caught them snooping about and dumped the bodies somewhere."  
  
"Don't. Don't even start with that. You start and you won't stop, and then you'll go all useless and your team really will be screwed."  
  
"Gee, thanks."  
  
He shrugs. "If you'd rather panic, go ahead. I'll drive."  
  
"You'll do no such thing," she says, grabbing the van keys off the wall. "And I don't panic."  
  
"Sure you don't," he says, following her out the door.  
  
"I _don't_. And even if I did, I'd know better than to do it in the middle of crisis. There's this thing called professionalism..."  
  
  
  
It starts as a flicker, Kathy thinks. Like a strobe light just out of sight, or the blip in the corner of a movie when you watch it in cinema. She'd ignore it, except that it's the most interesting thing to exist in here since their arrival.  
  
By the time it becomes really noticeable, Andy and Johnson have stopped throwing each other into the outer edges of the space and pretending they're in zero gee. Kathy is immensely grateful; if they'd asked for help getting down one more time she'd have probably left them there.  
  
It stops flickering and becomes mostly solid about eight feet above their heads and right in the center of the room. Where gravity is fairly constant.  
  
It's a square, above the shape of a doorway, glowing faintly red and purple. It's also clearly a passageway and also their only way out.  
  
"That's great," Johnson says after a couple of minutes of pretending the ground really is a trampoline, with no success. "What are we supposed to do now?"  
  
Andy mumbles something.  
  
"What?"  
  
He blushes and Johnson thinks it's a damn shame Lois isn't there to see it.  
  
"I said 'we could try a basket toss'. Sort of. It would work better if there were one more of us..." They're both giving him weird looks now. "I had three sisters," he says defensively. "They were all on the cheer squad and they made me practice with them. D'you want to mock me or try to escape?"  
  
"Escape," Kathy puts in quickly, before Johnson can get a word in. Not that she could, she's giggling too much to form words.  
  
"Would you stop that?"  
  
"Sorry," she says, giggles subsiding just a bit. "Sorry. It's just... I'll never be able to look at you and not see pom poms again."  
  
Kathy quickly tries to hide a smirk before Andy sees, but she fails miserably.  
  
"I knew I shouldn't have said anything," Andy mutters. Then, very quickly, pointing at Johnson, "And I don't care how many guns you have, if one word of that gets back to Lois I'll kill you."  
  
"Liar," Johnson says, going for intimidating but being slightly undermined by the giggles she still hasn't managed to shake completely.  
  
"Yeah, probably," he admits. "Still."  
  
Kathy waits for Johnson to regain her composure before asking Andy to talk them through this escape plan.  
  
  
  
They're more than halfway to the ordinary neighborhood the rest of the team disappeared in before Lois realises she forgot to route the flat telephone through her headset and is undoubtedly going to miss Gwen's check in. That'll go over well, she thinks, muttering a curse under her breath.  
  
They manage to reach the ordinary house without a major incident, despite a very annoying traffic detour that almost drives Lois to running-coppers-over levels of anxiety. Almost being the key word. They agree not to mention it again.  
  
"This is the place?" Lois asks, just to make sure, before she kicks the door down without waiting to see if it's unlocked.  
  
For the record, it is.  
  
A fact which Mickey feels the need to point out to her. Repeatedly.  
  
She glares over her shoulder and goes back to prowling the house, room by room. She's just pushed open the door to what is probably the parlour when Mickey yells, "Wait!"  
  
She isn't an idiot; she waits.  
  
Mickey approaches the door a lot more cautiously than she did. He stares at it like he's studying it for long enough that she starts to wonder what could possibly be so fascinating about it. Then he pulls something out of his pocket, fiddles with it a bit, and pushes it into the top right corner of the doorframe.  
  
The whole doorway crackles with energy, flashes of lightning that start out contained and then start to spread.  
  
He pulls her back away from it and they duck behind the couch.  
  
"What the hell was that thing?" she asks, trying to peek over the top. "What did you do?"  
  
"It's a thing I took from the other Torchwood, it doesn't have a name. It's disabling the thing in the doorway that would have knocked us out the minute we stepped through. I _hate_ those things." He grabs her by the collar and yanks her back down, just before a lightning bolt streaks by. "Would you stay down? If it was safe to have your head up there I wouldn't have dragged you behind a sofa. "  
  
The crackling noise stops.  
  
"Is it safe _now?_ " she only half asks, already standing up.  
  
"Be my guest," he mumbles, following her into the other room. "Oh. That's... it could be worse?"  
  
  
  
What's strange is that the second Andy gets a hold on the strange doorway it starts to sink, until he's standing on the ground again holding it at eye level.  
  
"Now what?" he asks.  
  
Johnson looks at him like she's really considering the question, then, expression all innocence, she waves vaguely at the doorway and says, "Ladies first."  
  
"I hate you."  
  
"Johnson," Kathy says warningly.  
  
She holds her hands up. "Okay, fine. I'll go." She pushes Andy out of the way and climbs through the opening, completely disappearing as she does so. The others follow her.  
  
  
  
The chairs the three of them are hooked up to look like ordinary chairs. Perfectly ordinary, like a dining room chair. And they're sitting in them perfectly normally as well, aside from the part where they look like they're asleep.  
  
It's the things on their heads that are throwing Lois.  
  
At first glance they look like crowns, all silver and gold and balanced right on top. It's only on closer examination that she can see that the beautiful twisted metal designs seem to extend right into and under their skin. Which... from a distance is kind of cool looking, but up close? Incredibly creepy.  
  
There's a computer screen on the wall, showing vital signs and about a hundred other reading Lois couldn't interpret if she tried. Mickey, fortunately, seems to know what he's doing.  
  
"Don't touch them," he says when she reaches for one of the crowns.  
  
"How did you- you're not even _looking_."  
  
"I told you, I worked for Torchwood before. Just leave it alone, unless you want to fry their brains." She snatches her hands away. "The simulation is almost complete anyway."  
  
"Simulation?" she asks. "Like virtual reality?"  
  
"Something like that," he says. "More like virtual holding cells, though. Nothing programmed in there." He glances around the room. "Probably whoever set this up just meant it to stall anyone who stumbled on it long enough to get away."  
  
"Great," she sighs. "And they're just going to come out of it on their own? You don't have to turn it off?"  
  
"It's on a timer," he says, bringing it to the front of the screen. "Just another couple minutes."  
  
"So what you're saying is, really, this whole trip was a waste of time?"  
  
"I'm not saying that. You can, if you want." He wanders around the room, abandoning the computer screen for the time being. "No more chairs, no more crowns, so the screen on the door was probably set up as they were leaving. They'll be long gone by now."  
  
Just at that moment, Johnson opens her eyes.  
  
Lois rushes to her side, watching carefully as the bits of crown that were under her skin retract until she can lift it off and pass it to Mickey. "Nikki? Has your brain been scrambled?"  
  
"Unlikely," Mickey says from across the room.  
  
"Shut up," she says over her shoulder. "Nikki?"  
  
"I told you not to call me that," Johnson mumbles. "What happened?"  
  
"Well... you walked right into a trap. And then I had to come rescue you."  
  
"Oi!" Mickey says. "What about me?"  
  
"I told you to shut up."  
  
"Who's he?" Johnson says, slurring a little and trying to stand up. She doesn't really make it very far.  
  
Lois pushes her back down. "I'll introduce you when you're all a little more awake and aware. Just sit there for a while, okay? I'm going to go make sure Kathy and Andy are okay."  
  
"Okay," Johnson says. Then, "I know a secret, but I'm not allowed to tell you."  
  
Lois rolls her eyes, already removing the crown from a groggy Kathy. "I hate you when you're drugged."  
  
"No you don't," she says. "You _love_ me when I'm drugged."  
  
"That's when _I'm_ drugged," she corrects gently. She looks up at Mickey. "Please tell me that will wear off soon?"  
  
"Um," he says. "According to the monitor it's just to ease the transition between the virtual and actual realities. But it'll probably take an hour to metabolize."  
  
"A simple no would have sufficed." She sighs. "Okay, help me get them out to van. You can drive the car. Bring the crowns but leave the rest of it, we'll come out for cleanup tomorrow. Come on, _move_."  
  
  
  
She can't hear what Johnson says, but she can see Mickey's shoulders slump. Then he takes the retcon tablet and downs the glass of water in one gulp. Johnson pats him on the shoulder and sees him out.  
  
"I'm sorry, Lois," Kathy says. "We just can't hire everyone who turns up on our doorstep."  
  
"That's how I got hired," she says, not sullen but something close. "And Gwen never retconned _you_. I thought you didn't even like retcon."  
  
"I don't."  
  
"Then why-"  
  
"Because that's the policy."  
  
"It's a stupid policy."  
  
"There," Johnson says, coming back into the kitchen. "All done."  
  
"What if he didn't really swallow it?" Andy asks. "People do that, you know, fake that they're swallowing pills when they're not."  
  
"That's why I dissolved a tablet into the water," Johnson says. "If he didn't swallow the tablet he got enough in him to wipe out the day. If he did, he'll wake up tomorrow with a massive hangover. Please. Do you think I'm an amateur?"  
  
"Clearly not."  
  
"Exactly. Now. Did the message Gwen left say when she'd be back?"  
  
"No," Rhys says. "Just 'soon'. Apparently she managed to talk Doctor Jones around, it's just the husband she's waiting on."  
  
There's the sound of a door opening, then, "Hello? Why are you all in the kitchen?"  
  
"Gwen!"  
  
They manage to get out of the kitchen in a somewhat responsible fashion, not at all tripping over each other in the doorway and certainly not ending up in a pile on the floor with Gwen staring down at them in amusement.  
  
"You're back early," Rhys says.  
  
"So are you," she says pointedly.  
  
"Er."  
  
"And was that Mickey Smith I saw on the stairwell?"


	5. Tin Dogs And Trap Doors Part Two

We pick up the story again the next morning, after Lois and Kathy stumble through an explanation and Gwen mutters, half amused and half disappointed, "So this is what you get up to when I'm not looking over your shoulders," then sends them all home early, claiming they can deal with it "tomorrow".  
  
Now it's tomorrow and she's going in to work early, leaving Rhys snoring into his pillow. She's also stolen his keys, because he's not technically off sick leave yet and she _knows_ him.  
  
To her surprise she finds Lois already in the flat, curled up on the couch with a laptop in her lap and a mug of hot cocoa in her hands.  
  
"There's more in the kitchen," she mumbles, using the mug to motion vaguely in that direction.  
  
Gwen goes through and gets herself some, then settles into the seat beside Lois. "What are you doing here so early?"  
  
Lois looks up. "What are you?"  
  
"I don't know," she says, slowly sipping her cocoa. "Looking for a solution to our Mickey problem."  
  
"Mickey isn't the problem," Lois says.  
  
"I know," Gwen says. "Now you."  
  
"Same. I thought since you knew him he might be in the records somewhere. No dice, by the way."  
  
"We only met once, in passing. It was a bit hectic. You're more likely to find him in Jack's personal records."  
  
Lois snorts. "I'm _not_. Have you looked in there? It's 85% porn and the rest is written in I don't even know what language. The translation software crashes if I try to run it."  
  
Gwen doesn't even pretend to be surprised. "That's Jack for you. I'll see what I can do."  
  
Lois doesn't ask what she thinks she can do, just nods. "Thanks."  
  
"You're welcome," Gwen says, pulling one of the other laptops over. "From what I remember he's from our universe originally. You should run a standard background check. See what he was up to before."  
  
"On it."  
  
They lapse into a companionable silence, both working on their own projects.  
  
  
  
 **Subject:** JACK READ THIS  
 **From:** Gwen Cooper  
 **To:** Gwen Cooper  
 **Sent:** Today 9.37am  
  
Need your notes re: Mickey Smith translated. What language is that, anyway?  
  
  
  
"So when do we get to meet Dr. Jones?" Johnson asks from the backseat.  
  
"She should be getting in later today," Gwen says. "I've set her up with a place and-"  
  
"Turn here," Lois interrupts.  
  
"Ta. And her husband will be arriving on Wednesday."  
  
"Does he know what they've moved for?" Kathy asks.  
  
"Not yet." She makes the next turn without Lois' assistance. "After Lois gets Martha into the system we'll be bringing him into the loop."  
  
"Is that a good idea?" Johnson asks. "Wouldn't he be better off not knowing?"  
  
"He most certainly would _not_. And neither would she. Trust me, I've done that. When Jack recruited me Rhys had no idea what my new job was. Things got... a bit rocky."  
  
"But you're still together," she points out.  
  
"And Rhys now works for Torchwood. You see how that works out?"  
  
"Does that mean you're planning to recruit the husband too? We _really_ don't have that much space."  
  
"He's a pediatrician," Lois says, while Gwen pulls over. As Gwen prepares to get out, she offers, "I could do this."  
  
"I'd rather you did the cleanup," Gwen says. "You're the only one who got a clear look at that room. We can't afford to miss anything." She squeezes her shoulder as she slips out of the van. "Thank you."  
  
Lois slides over to the drivers seat. She waits until Gwen has disappeared into the apartment building before pulling away.  
  
  
  
 **Subject:** Re: JACK READ THIS  
 **From:** Gwen Cooper  
 **To:** Gwen Cooper  
 **Sent:** Today 1.52pm  
  
 _1 document attached_  
  
  
  
There is an ordinary house on an ordinary street that has, apparently, gotten even more ordinary overnight.  
  
There is no doubt this is the correct house. The living room still shows signs of the minor lightning storm caused by the defense screen. But the room the chairs and computer used to be in? It's empty.  
  
Not just a little bit empty, like someone came in and tidied up a bit. Completely empty.  
  
There is no longer a computer screen on the wall. There are no longer three ordinary chairs in the middle of the room. There are no curtains on the windows, and even the carpet has vanished entirely.  
  
Someone has been very thorough.  
  
This is not at all good.  
  
  
  
"Gwen Cooper," Mickey says, opening the door. He eyes her up and down. "You looked thinner on a computer screen."  
  
"I'm pregnant," she says, swatting his arm as she pushes her way into his flat. She's grinning, though, and so is he, with the sort of easy camaraderie of saving the world together.  
  
"It suits you," he says. "Tea?"  
  
"Love some."  
  
He nods acknowledgement, and waves vaguely toward the rest of the room. "Make yourself at home."  
  
"Nice place," she calls, loudly enough that he can hear her from the kitchen. She wanders around, looking unabashedly at the photographs on the walls.  
  
"My grandmother," he says, appearing behind her with two cups of tea. "Why are you here?"  
  
"How do you know it's not a social call?"  
  
"Is it?"  
  
"No," she admits.  
  
"Then, why are you here?"  
  
"I've come to offer you a job."  
  
"What a coincidence, I was thinking about coming to find you just the other day." He pauses, frowning. "Not a coincidence."  
  
"Not so much."  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
"It's my job to know." She shrugs at the look he gives her. "Okay, so that's a crap answer. It's a long story and you aren't going to like it."  
  
"At least that's honest." He drops into a chair. "Let's talk."  
  
  
  
When things start beeping, Andy knows, it's never a good sign. It's also never, ever at a convenient time. He has strict orders to be at the airport in less than half an hour, and _now_ there's Rift activity in downtown.  
  
"Bollocks," he pronounces, reaching for his phone.  
  
 _"Hullo?"_  
  
"Get up and get in your car," he says. "You're meeting Martha Jones at the airport."  
  
 _"Gwen took my keys,"_ Rhys says; Andy curses. _"And why can't you do it?"_  
  
"Because something pinged in downtown and everyone else is doing cleanup on the trap house."  
  
 _"Did you just say pinged?"_  
  
"Shut up, it's in the manual. I'll come get you and you can drop me off on your way."  
  
True to his word, Andy pulls up in front of the Williams' home not long after disconnecting the call, and honks the horn. Obnoxiously.  
  
"All right, all right, I'm coming. You don't have to be such a bloody git about it."  
  
"No, but it's fun," he says, pulling away. "Directions from the airport to the flat Gwen's set Martha up with are already programmed into the satnav, so you shouldn't have any problems. Just get her there and get her settled. I'll call again when I'm done and you can come pick me up."  
  
"Oh I can, can I?"  
  
"Unless you want Gwen to find a company car at your house when you're not supposed to be working, yeah."  
  
"Right," Rhys says, thinking about it. "Good point."  
  
  
  
After staring around the empty room, dumbfounded, for a bit longer than is strictly necessary, the ladies of Torchwood leap into action. There are only so many things that can be done to a room that's recently held alien technology, and the first three are classified.  
  
Once those are finished it's just a matter of forensics, and fortunately Kathy has a friend in the forensics lab. Not that it yields any results, but at least they know it's a dead end _quickly_.  
  
Whoever emptied the house was careful.  
  
Never, ever a good sign.  
  
  
  
Rhys finds Martha easily enough. They've all seen her picture enough times. She's been in the network for ages now, even before Gwen had gone on her recruiting mission. Jack had probably always intended to pilfer her from UNIT. Recruit. Seduce. Whatever word Jack would have used. (The last one, knowing Jack.)  
  
She looks him over like she's sizing him up with her eyes. "You'll be the husband then."  
  
"Rhys Williams," he says, shaking her hand. "And you're Martha Jones. Better hope you're as good a doctor as Gwen claims you are."  
  
"I am," she says coolly, and he gets the distinct feeling he's put his foot in it.  
  
"I, er, I was kidding," he says.  
  
"I wasn't." But then she smiles. "I thought Gwen said you were out of commission."  
  
"And as far as she's concerned, I still am, until you tell her this leg is _fine_. Which it is, by the way. We just had a minor issue and Andy had to run off and deal with it. So here I am."  
  
"What sort of issue?"  
  
"I'm not sure. They don't really keep me in the loop these days." He shrugs. "Andy said there was something going on in downtown. Come on, let's get your luggage."  
  
She shakes her head, hefting her carry-on. "This is it. The rest is coming in with Tom. Shall we?"  
  
  
  
When Kathy, Lois, and Johnson return to the flat, they find it empty. Andy's left a note on the coffee table.  
  
It reads: 'Rift activity downtown. Back soon. ~AD'  
  
Lois calls him anyway, just to make sure he hasn't been eaten by Weevils. For the record, he hasn't.  
  
"Nikki," she says when she hangs up. "Can you go meet Andy in downtown. He claims he doesn't need backup, but-"  
  
"He what?"  
  
"You heard me. Will you go?"  
  
"Ten quid says I find him knocked out in an alley," she jokes. "Don't wait up."  
  
"We won't."  
  
Kathy is on the phone almost immediately, making sure everyone else is where she thought they were. She finds Gwen exactly where she expects to, in conversation with Mickey Smith. Rhys' phone rings through, but Martha picks up and they're together, on their way from Martha's flat to the one Kathy is standing in; they're bringing takeaway.  
  
In the meantime, Lois turns her attention to the crowns. She hasn't studied them yet and there's always the chance that they'll hold a clue. Maybe she can track them back to the last people who had used them.  
  
They're made of silver and gold, metal threads woven together to form an almost perfect circle. The edges of the crowns are entirely smooth; there's no indication that they had once had jagged edges that could pierce human skin. She can't even tell, looking at them, which way is right side up or if it even matters. There's no writing on them, either inside or outside.  
  
She thinks this might take her a while.  
  
  
  
"You've been in charge of Torchwood for how long?" Mickey asks.  
  
"Four months, give or take."  
  
"And this retcon policy is still on the books." He frowns. "You've been slacking."  
  
"It's been an adjustment," she allows. "I haven't thought of everything yet. It didn't help that Jack didn't put you in the files. None of my team knew who you were."  
  
"And I could have been some whack job from the internet?"  
  
"Something like that. Has this put you off us entirely?"  
  
"Nah." He shrugged. "I've seen worse screw ups, and you bothered to come back and try to fix it. That says a lot in my book. D'you have a pile of paperwork for me to fill in or something?"  
  
"I'll have Lois find it for you."  
  
"Lois? I think I remember..." He frowns.  
  
"She's the one you talked to yesterday. Might be the reminder's breaking through the retcon. It's never worked one hundred percent on me, either."  
  
"Is there an antidote?"  
  
"If there is we've never found the formula, and Jack never mentioned it."  
  
"Well, he wouldn't, would he?"  
  
"True enough. Maybe Martha can mix something up, I don't know. It's not really my area."  
  
"Well, lead on. I seem to have misplaced your address. Or had it misplaced for me."  
  
  
  
Lois is so engrossed in the study she's doing on the crowns that she doesn't hear the door open when Martha and Rhys arrive, doesn't notice them at all until Rhys practically shouts her ear off.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said, is there paperwork somewhere for Dr. Jones to fill out?"  
  
"Right. I actually got that out, it's here on the counter..." She sets the crown she's holding down next to a stack of papers and begins flipping through them.  
  
"You've got detention crowns?" Martha asks, surprised. "I didn't realise they were out of beta."  
  
Lois looks up at her and blinks. "You know what those are?"  
  
"You don't?"  
  
"Oh boy," Rhys says, dropping onto the couch.  
  
Lois briefly outlines the previous day while Martha listens quietly, her frown growing deeper the more she learns. When she's finished Martha says, "That's odd. I can't imagine why... I have to make a call."  
  
"Excuse me?" Lois says. "I think you owe us some sort of explanation first."  
  
Martha nods. "Fair enough." She picks up one of the crowns. "This is what we call, tentatively, a detention crown. UNIT adapted it from an alien design, but as far as I was aware it was still in testing."  
  
"What's it do?" Rhys asks.  
  
"Supposedly it's a virtual reality prison, self-administers sedative and nutrients. Cuts down on prison fights. I worked on it for a while, but I was under the impression it was years from being what you'd call a long term solution."  
  
"That tracks with what we learned yesterday," Lois says, nodding. "They didn't happen to go missing, did they?"  
  
"I haven't heard anything about the project in months, but let me make a call and I'll find out."  
  
"Have at it. I'll have this paperwork ready for you when you're finished."  
  
  
  
For posterity's sake it should be noted now that Andy had encountered a hive of Shishekka Flying Ants, which are about as pleasant as the name suggests, and Johnson had arrived just in time to rescue him from them.  
  
He continues to maintain that he doesn't need her help, even as they lure the hive into containment and neutralize it.  
  
He is, of course, wrong.  
  
  
  
By the time Gwen and Mickey get to the Torchwood flat, Martha has sorted everything with Unit, filled out her own paperwork, and cleared Rhys for duty.  
  
Unit hadn't actually _lost_ the crowns, or at least not that they would admit. Martha suspects that a small political faction within Unit itself absconded with it, but they won't admit to that.  
  
By the time Andy and Johnson return to headquarters, Mickey has also filled out his paperwork.  
  
(In the time between Martha signing her life away to Torchwood and Tom arriving in Cardiff, Gwen acquires the lease on the flat across the hall from the Torchwood flat and turns it into a semi-functional medical bay and archive.)


	6. The Ballad Of Martha And Mickey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Experimental tumblrfic style.

tom isn't a bad guy, let's get that straight. he's a really decent guy, helps little old ladies cross the road, donates to all the right charities, tries his hardest not to be a jerk. but he's a normal guy, all right? average. happy with his job and his life plan and his comfortable universe. he's not equipped to deal with the reality of alien visitation, Torchwood isn't something he factored into his plans. but after they move to Cardiff, after they've gotten settled into a nice flat and he's gotten himself settled into a new hospital, after their routine settles into something normal again, that's when Martha decides to tell him about Torchwood. and he says no, he puts his foot down. he calls her a liar, because it sounds unbelievable, even though he knows she isn't lying, because he can tell when she's lying. (things Martha lies about: how they first met, when the last time the trash was taken out was, her ability to cook things that aren't vegetables, whose socks those are between the sofa cushions).

oh, he tries to deal with it. for a few weeks, he even manages it. but not every man is like Rhys Williams. knowing where she's going when she gets called out in the middle of the night isn't comforting at all, and he doesn't cope well. they end up avoiding each other entirely for almost a month before she confronts him about it. but the fact that she's out there risking her life against who knows what, he doesn't like it at all. and she... doesn't really care. i mean, she does care, obviously, but not enough to stop doing it.

and so, three months after their wedding and one month into Martha's job at Torchwood, Martha and Tom split up. it was kind of destined to happen, because they never had a proper first meeting. or, rather, they have different memories of their first meeting. (Martha remembers a ruined beach and a man who helped her save the world) (Tom remembers a beautiful woman who turned up at his hospital already knowing his name) yeah, that's not destined to end well at all

so they separate. tom moves back to London and slots himself right back into the life he'd left for her. martha gets on with her life, working for Torchwood as best she knows how. she's faced amarseids in aberporth, vyshrans in cilgerran, and mmemmdars in ewloe before she sends the divorce papers. it's not like it's an easy decision, and it's certainly not one she takes lightly. but he isn't even accepting her phone calls, which isn't really promising if he intends a reconcilliation. it's another couple weeks, and two more invasions (timmiri in merthyr tydfil and jendai in neath) before she gets them back signed.

during what turns out to be a red herring in llanybydder - because not every instance of disappearing wildlife is aliens, sometimes it's just crazy billionaires with creepy hobbies - there's a moment where she thinks maybe she's going to get shot and she reaches out to hold mickey's hand. which leads to kissing, because of course it does. and after that things are easy for them. they fall into a relationship like it's their destiny. (destiny is a ridiculous concept, but with everything they've seen and done they're allowed to be a little bit ridiculous every now and then, it's almost a job requirement)

in march, gwen hears from jack for the first time. she comes back without the wrist strap, and the two of them immediately take her drinking. (not actually drinking, because seriously, she's seven months pregnant, no one thinks that's a good idea, but the sentiment is there and they end up in a club with loud music and drinks that at least look the part) johnson and lois and andy want to come along, but they don't have the same history. they don't know what a vortex manipulator is or what it means that jack took his with him. to be fair, neither do martha and mickey and gwen, exactly, but they know that it means something - which is something kathy recognizes, and she diverts the rest of the team to an actual pub.

nothing much happens for the next couple of months. a few incursions in a sequence of towns that all begin with b, a friendly glickri tourist ship in haverfordwest, and a crashed eisilen survey ship in senghenydd. martha and mickey move in together about a week before gwen gives birth to a beautiful baby boy called kieve nye cooper-williams.

in june they discover an underground cache of thyklian weaponry in a town called Gorsafawddachaidraigddanheddogleddollonpenrhynareurdraethceredigion, which only Gwen can come even remotely close to pronouncing correctly. the cache is full of mostly burned out weapons, none of which are calibrated to be safe for use on anything that isn't a thyklian, so they drain the few things that still have a charge, and seal the cache behind them, installing sensors to alert them if it's ever disturbed.

in july, mickey plans a whole date, a proper date with a film and dancing and dinner in an expensive restaurant - with a ring in the champagne, because why not be fancy with it? of course, they make it about halfway through the film before a ycchim bloodpirate crashes the costco down the street and takes six people hostage. by the time they get out of that (with no casualties, thank you very much), it's the middle of the night and the reservation is long past, and he doesn't really see any point in waiting to try for that perfect date again, so he just drops to his knees and proposes to her in the middle of the street, outside of what's shaping up to look like an ordinary crime scene if lois has anything to say about it. it shouldn't really need to be said that she says yes, but of course she does and so that's the story of how martha got from one relationship to another without it really being much of a story at all.


End file.
